LIBRARY OF COiNGRESS. 



$IH^ 






I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 



EGYPT, 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY 

M. A. TYLER. 



A.O 



PHILAD ELPHI A: 

B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1876. 






\^ 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 

M. A. TYLER, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



These poems were composed from time to time as an 
amusement for the leisure hours of the writer, and there- 
fore extend through a series of many years. That some 
of them were written long ago will be evident from the 
poems themselves. 

M. A. T. 

Philadelphia, November, 1875. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Egypt 7 

The Funeral of General Frazer 13 

Lines 16 

Washington's Monument at Baltimore . . . .17 

Song of Spring to the Flowers 19 

Stanzas ' .... 21 

The Wounded Dove 22 

God is Present Everywhere 23 

Sea-Shells 25 

Drain no more the Goblet Dry 27 

To the Winds . • 28 

Morn among the Mountains 31 

To an Infant 33 

The Alpine Horn 34 

The History of an Ostrich Plume 36 

Song of Night 39 

The Wild Swan 40 

Happiness 42 

Byron 43 

The Seasons 45 

Peace 49 

To C. L. T. in Infancy 50 

I* 5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Stanzas 52 

Sonnet. To a Friend 54 

Invocation. To L. E. L. . . . . . . -55 

The Ethiopian Lily in my Garden 57 

Sebastopol 59 

Harvest. A Temperance Song 62 

The New World. A Temperance Song . . .1 . 64 
Memorial Verses: 

In Memory of Her who departed this Life Septem- 
ber 17, 1862 66 

Catharine 68 

To the Memory of Emily 70 

In Remembrance of A. K 72 

In Memory of H. G. To his Mother . . .74 

Harriet 76 

Maxims 77 



EGYPT 

DURING THE GOVERNMENT OF MOHAMMED ALT. 

Land of the Pharaohs and of giant mind, 

What mighty ages have sprung up and stood 
A moment poised above thee, then declined 

Into oblivion's pathless solitude ! 

Yet leaving grand memorials, that elude 
With a tremendous energy the power 

Of man's rapacious fingers, and the flood 
Of Time's eternal frettings. Hour by hour 
Some beauty has been reft from other artist's dower : 

But thou, in thy primeval freshness, seemest. 

In tint and sculpture, but of yesterday,* 
And with the wonderful forever teemest ; 

For genius here has stamped thy ruins gray 

With quenchless life : and though they've passed away, 
Th' illustrious dead, yet still their works of might. 

Which to interpret sages but essay, 
Are waymarks on the earth, that tend to light 
Creation's record down through a long reign of night. 

••• " Before the gateway of the temple of Luxor, until within a few 
years, stood two obelisks, each a single block of red granite, more than 
eighty feet high, covered with sculpture and hieroglyphics fresh as but 
yesterday from the hands of the sculptor."— STEVENS. 

7 



8 EGYPT. 

How much of history is there locked within 
The living emblems of thy voiceless tongue 1 

Ages have passed, and yet men scarce begin 
To trace the characters upon thee flung 
In lavish, strange profusion : 'tis among 

Stupendous monuments a nation keeps 

Its self-earned privilege, to live, when hung. 

Like thee, with barb'rous shadows darkness heaps 

On fallen pomp : alas ! no native o'er thee weeps. 

Thy headless Memnon and thy trodden shrines, 

Thy sculptured temples falling to decay, 
Thy fadeless tints and thousand mystic lines 

Rouse not his soul, for torpor seems to lay 

An icy finger on his soulless clay ; 
And he whose noble ancestry has made 

A thousand ages but as yesterday. 
So fresh, so life-like, are the scenes portrayed, 
Has sunk to deepest night : society's last grade.* 

Oh ! can no ardor rouse him ? but to see 

The vast assemblage makes the spirit spring 
Up to a higher tone ; what majesty 

Thy countless monuments around us fling ! 

Thy sons were godlike, and their spirits' wing 
Floated through sunnier climes than we behold ; 

Their deeds were for the future : lo ! they bring 

* " The Copts are usually regarded as the descendants of the true 
Egyptians, the subjects of Aminophis and Sesostris. Like all classes of 
men who have been long degraded, they are remarkable for cunning and 
duplicity, being a groveling race, and farther distant from civihzation 
than any of their fellow-citizens." 



EGYPT. 9 

The past to meet the present : strong and bold 
Their master-strokes outlive all other works of old. 

Is there not still among thy gorgeous tombs, — 
Those structures fitting for their princely dead, — 

Some spirit of the past, which restless roams, 
Making all hallowed round the marble bed 
Of this long-mouldering race, whose genius led 

Admiring nations to the lore they sought ? * 
Is there no sign, amid the ruins spread 

In fadeless glory, of the lofty thought 

Where inspiration's self the bright conception wrought ? 

Have they all vanished, body, spirit, too. 

And left no traces save their works behind ? 
Cannot the fancy find or make a clue 

Wherewith to link us to their lofty mind ? 

Grasp the ideal, and with it unbind 
The burning thoughts, and make the present seem 

Peopled with airy forms, the light, the wind, 
And all things with illusive beings teem. 
And the past spring to life as an enchanted dream ? 

Oh ! it is great to blend, though but in thought. 
With beings of such mighty mind and mould. 

Who reached afar, and Heaven itself seems brought 
Down from its lofty height. f These men of old, 

* " Plato, Pythagoras, Lycurgus, Solon, Herodotus, and Tacitus 
entered into her. (Egypt's) bosom to be initiated into her sciences, re- 
ligion, and laws." — Gliddon. 

")" " In casting my eyes on the ceiling," — in an Egyptian temple, — " I 
perceived zodiacs, planetary systems, and celestial hemispheres repre- 



lo EGYPT. 

With tireless hands of strength and spirit bold, 
The Pyramids have reared : with giant might 

They piled them to the sky, where clouds are rolled 
Around their summits at a dizzy height, 
Stupendous still ! as when they blest Sesostris' sight. 

Live on, great Thebes ! * What though the desert sweep 
O'er other cities, be thou still the same \ > 

Thou wast the cradle, art the couch of sleep. 
Where genius rests : and yet no loftier name 
Stands up against thee with a better claim, 

A stronger grasp on immortality. 

Where is the nation that has fixed its aim 

So near perfection, or can rival thee? 

Unique must be its life if it undying be. 

Proudly, Nile, thy sacred water glides. 
Gemmed with a coronal of gorgeous fanes : 

Thebes, the transcendent, o'er the whole presides; 
Thy rugged hills are cleft, and on thy plains 
The pomp of kings in silent grandeur reigns. 

Temple and tomb and palace, side by side, 
Stand ruined all ; yet Time himself maintains 

Deep reverence o'er their dust, as far and wide 

And desolate they stand amid their pristine pride. 

sented. Some of the ceilings are painted blue (as bright now as when 
first put on, more than three thousand years ago), and dotted with stars." 
-;■;- " xhis celebrated city (Thebes) the size of which Homer has charac- 
terized with the single expression of the hundred-gated, still impressed 
the mind with such gigantic phantoms that the whole French army, com- 
ing suddenly in sight of the ruins, with one accord stood in amazement, 
and clapped their hands with delight." 



EGYPT. II 

Well have they called thee sacred, lovely Nile ! 

Hast thou not brought the products of thy bed 
Deep in the mountain gorge on them to pile 

Riches no hand, though kingly, could have shed ? 

Hast thou not gently down thy channels led 
The oozy waters that o'erstepped the shore, 

And far their fertilizing tribute spread ? 
Thy verdant banks prolific harvests bore, 
And Plenty filled her horn at the redundant store. 

And have not priests and holy hermits blessed 

Thy precious waves, and brought them to their shrines. 

And watched with deep devotion as they pressed 
Through secret reservoirs in cunning mines,- 
Deep in the temple's cavity,* where shines 

No lovely beam from the bright king of day ; 

How have they strewn with lotus-flowers and vines 

The placid stream that all unruffled lay. 

Sending the odors up from many a floating spray ? 

The desert, too, came down o'er smiling plains. 
Drinking whole cities up, and laying waste 

Extensive districts, until naught remains 

Save the broad ocean sands, whose waves make haste 
To fetch down farther ruin, till are chased 

Man, beast, and herbage from their haunts of old ; 

Tombs, labyrinths, are engulfed, whose fronts have faced 

The storms of ages, and though sternly bold 

They stood defying time, the desert o'er them rolled. 

* " The supposed tomb (in the great Egyptian Pyramid) \vas a trough, 
which, on certain festivals, her priests used to fill with sacred water and 
lotus-fiowers." — Wilford. 



12 EGYPT. 

A desolate realm ! but not forever so : 

A strange, new fate is thine, — to rise though slain : 
The mantle of forgetfulness to throw 

From off thy corpse-like visage : to maintain 

A contest for supremacy again : 
To bid defiance to destruction's hand 

That urges on his charioteer amain : 
To wake the latent vigor of the land, ' 

And, though it sleep, arise, and with new strength expand. 

Thou hast a ruler worthy of the throne 

The Pharaohs honored, despot though he be : 

He spake and barb'rous usages have flown ; 
He gave the mandate, and at once we see 
Commerce come forth to wed with industry. 

A happy union : and their marriage gave 
The land to smile and hold a jubilee. 

Where stagnant pools have stood the harvests wave. 

The work of him, thy son, the gifted and the brave. 

It is enough : thy second spring-time nears ; 

Age cannot keep thy powers in longer sleep : 
To thee a resurrection morn appears. 

Beams of a dawning light upon thee sweep, 

Scattering the shadows which forever keep 
O'er other prostrate realms an endless spell; 

But thou hast wakened from thy slumbers deep ; 
Unheard-of change : the sapient fail to tell 
What thy ulterior fate may be; so fare thee well. 



THE FUNERAL OF GENERAL FRAZER. 



13 



THE FUNERAL OF GENERAL FRAZER. 



General Frazer fell on the side of the British during the American 
Revolution. He was interred at evening in the midst of the engagement. 
An incessant cannonade was kept up while the chaplain officiated. As 
soon, however, as the Americans discovered the funeral procession, they 
ceased hostilities, and, in honor of the gallant commander, fired minute- 
guns. 



They mount among the dusky trees, 
But leave no trace upon the breeze : 
No trampling sound of horse is there 
To mutter on the mountain air ; 
But o'er the plain the cannon's breath 
In murderous accents thunders death. 

Around them ball and shot are driven 
Like rattling showers of hail from heaven 
The sulphur smoke and blast of war 
Are rumbling up the mountain far : 
As crash of thunderbolt they come 
With peal of horn and sound of drum. 

The ancient forest hears the sound, 
And trembles o'er the quivering ground : 
The elm-tree bows its pale green form 
In answer to the martial storm ; 
2 



14 



THE FUNERAL OF GENERAL FRAZER. 

But naught withholds that phalanx still, 
It winds through ravine, mounts o'er hill. 

The evening shadows, dusk with glooms. 

Settle along their waving plumes ; 

The pine-trees o'er them hang a screen, 

A living veil of fadeless green ; 

The stars look out, and yet they go, i 

That little band of silent woe. 

They mount still higher : now they rove 
Like spectres through the mountain-grove : 
Their robes float back upon the breeze. 
As slow they wind among the trees ; 
One effort more, and now they stand 
Silent as death, that little band. 

All is not hushed : the battle-cry 
Rolls its deep surge along the sky ; 
The seeds of death come leaping free 
To reach that spot of misery : 
And glance, like thunderbolts of dread, 
Around each proud, unyielding head. 

They stand like martyr by his tomb, 
Dilating in the thickening gloom; 
No warlike sound can rouse them now. 
Stern sorrow sits upon each brow. 
And seems to mock at outward strife, 
Scorning alike or death or life. 

They move not, for the dead is near ; 
They quail not, for they know no fear : 



THE FUNERAL OF GENERAL FRAZER 

They have been nursed in war's embrace, 
They have met danger face to face ; 
They have stood forth upon the field 
Where armies fell and empires reeled ; 

But never have they known before, 

In battle din or wild uproar, 

A feeling of such quenchless power 

As gathers in this bitter hour ; 

It is not grief alone they bear, — 

Indignant thoughts are burning there. 

Their lips are curled, but every eye 

Turns to the earth all reverently. 

Now sudden bursts upon the ear 

A death-dirge, slow and deep and clear : 

A union sad of martial strain 

With solemn chant for hero slain. 

But, hark ! the battle din is o'er, 

The clarion's breath is heard no more ; 

The minute-gun alone is there 

To break the stillness of the air; 

The strife hath ceased : the foe hath said, 

*'Bury in peace your honored dead." 



^5 



1 5 LINES. 



LINES. 

Lady, with a step so nice, 
Hast thou ever weighed the price i 

Of the fur robes round thee flung ? 
Think'st thou of the tortures wrung 
From the feeble tribes they blessed 
Ere they folded o'er thy breast? 
Lovely are they, and how warm, 
Pressing softly round thy form ; 
But remember ! for thy pride 
Has been poured the life-blood's tide : 
Pangs, unwaken'd by offence. 
Have been wrung from innocence. 
Oh ! within the peaceful shade 
Havoc, havoc hath been made ! 
Blood has poured like rain for thee . 
From the veins of purity. 
Would that beauteous fur could bear 
Tokens of the deep despair, 
When the gory knife has pressed 
Quivering in the victim's breast ! 
Would it could depict the woe 
When the snare has laid him low. 
And the blood through mouth and ears 
Started like a flood of tears ! • 
Then thy heart would yearn with grief. 
And humanely prompt relief: 



WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT AT BALTIMORE. 

Aid would render in such hour ; 
Pause ! for much is in thy power. 

Should not woman's voice be heard 
Wheresoe'er the air is stirred 
With the blighting things that spread 
Under Cruelty's broad tread? 
Rouse, then ! teach the world to see 
Mercy has its germ in 



17 



WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT AT 
BALTIMORE. 

Monument of him who stood 
Where the fiery battle flood 
Mingled with the gory blood : 
Speakest thou of victory ? 

Or of conquering chief, who came 
Onward like a rolling flame, 
Glory's halo round his name. 

Circling broad and brilliantly? 

Reared in peace for deeds of war, 
Up the steep of Time afar. 
Tell his name where ages are, 
In the dark futurity. 

• And amid the storms that bear. 
From their lofty mountain lair, 
2* 



1 8 WASHING TON' S MONUMENT AT BAL TIM ORE. 

Mighty oaks on cars of air, 

Lift thy brow triumphantly. 

Statue, on the summit high, 
Touching neither earth nor sky. 
Realms may waste, and sink and die, 
Thou, too, fall ingloriously. 

Babylon its pomp has seen, 
Silence broods where Troy has been. 
Spoiled are courts of Egypt's queen. 
Hushed is Balbec's revelry. 

Thus thy shaft may fall away : 
But the name shall not decay ; 
Time, with his full trump, shall say, 
Washington eternally ! 



SOJVG OF SFIUNG TO THE FLOWERS. 



19 



SONG OF SPRING TO THE FLOWERS. 

Come from your wintry beds, 
My beautiful and lovely; flowrets gay, 

Come from the pillow where you laid your heads 
When Boreas, in his fur-car, passed this way ; 
Come from your wintry beds. 

The turf is warmed for you : 
For I have brought the sunbeams in my train ; 

Silent and bland they force a passage through 
The cold and sullen soil, till fresh again 
The turf is warmed for you. 

Come from the meadows gay : 
I have been o'er them, and prepared the sod ; 

C&me, that with gentle pressure I may lay 
Benignly on you the blest beams of God ; 
Come from the meadows gay. 

Come from the prairies vast. 
Where I am present with my wooing heat ; 

Come, with your regal glories unsurpassed ; 
Send up your odors as an incense sweet ; 
Come from the prairies vast. 

Come from the mountain-side, — 
Old Winter has dealt roughly there, I ween, — 



) SOA^G OF SPRING TO THE FLOWERS. 

Yet come with double strength and triple pride ; 
Rear thick your tufted heads the moss between ; 
Come from the mountain-side. 

Come from the forests deep : 
Lift the leaf-covering from each shrinking face ; 

Come, while I lure you from your wintry sleep 
In the dark foldings of the earth's embrace ; 
Ccme from the forests deep. 

Come from your wintry beds, 
My beautiful and lovely ; flowrets gay, 

Come from the pillow where you laid your heads 
When Boreas, in his fur-car, passed this way ; 
Come from your wintry beds. 



STANZAS. 2 1 



STANZAS. 

There are before thee gem-like flowers, 
That sparkle in the summer bowers ; 
Above thee, and from pole to pole, 
Orbs of resplendent glory roll. 

The air around thee glows with song, 
As the gay warblers dart along ; 
Light, scent, and sound appeal to thee, 
To raise thy soul in sympathy. 

Then leave the dull, perplexing cares, 
The tread-mill round thy life that wears ; 
Look up ! there's something more below 
Than pressing toil and grinding woe. 

What if thy life be cast in gloom? 
Smile, and the rose of hope shall bloom. 
All is not lost when darkness lowers : 
Sure, sunlight follows after showers. 

Others have been where thou art now ; 
Then cheer thee, smooth that troubled brow 
The darkest hours precede the day ; 
Be hopeful : clouds shall pass away. 



THE WOUNDED DOVE. 



THE WOUNDED DOVE, 

FOUND IN THE WOODS BY THE WRITER. 

1 

Though the heavens are high and wide, 
Yet a shaft is in thy side. 
Wherefore wouldst thou flee in fear? 
Nay, the fowler is not here. 
I will screen thee from his eye, 
Should he now be lurking nigh. 
Flutter not ; my hand may bring 
Comfort to thy wounded wing. 
Ah 1 thy silver hue is dyed 
With the fountain from thy side : 
And the moss beneath thee bends 
Where the trickling gore descends. 
I would staunch the blood with care. 
And would smooth thy plumage fair. 
But thine eye of light is blind, 
And thy pinion droops behind. 
Could I but thy powers restore, 
I would ask for thee no more ; 
But would say. Go, mount on high, 
Take thy pathway near the sky ; 
Float upon the upper breeze ; 
Rest but in the loftiest trees; 
Make thy nest sublimely proud. 
Where the hemlock sweeps the cloud. 



GOD IS PRESENT EVERYWHERE. 

When thy music swells with love, 
Pour it to the heavens above ; 
Come not near the earth again, 
Minstrel of a plaintive strain. 



23 



GOD IS PRESENT EVERYWHERE. 

In the cloister, in the shrine, 
In the temple's solemn gloom, 

In the deeply buried mine. 
In the chambers of the tomb, 

In the flood and in the air, — 

God is present everywhere. 

Countless leaves and untold flowers 
Speak Jehovah, mute, but plain. 

Are not all the vocal bowers 

Choirs for earth's extended fane ? 

Heaven and earth His impress bear, — 

God is present everywhere. 

He is in the ocean's roar, 

He is in the wild -wood shades. 

Where the rills forever pour 

Music through their lone arcades ; 

He whose glory none may share, 

God, — is present everywhere. 



24 



GOD IS PRESENT EVERYWHERE. 

In the lightning flashing by, 

In the songster's mellow lay, 
In the purple arch on high, 

In the zephyr's rustling play. 
Do not many tones declare 
God is present everywhere ? 

Cavilers, in your hearts He made 

Altars meet whereon to lay 
Offerings, to His mercy paid. 

Turn not in your pride away ! 
Doubt ye that His eye is there ? 
God is present everywhere. 

In the busy haunts of life. 

In the midst of pleasure's throng. 

In the battle's fearful strife. 
In the dance and in the song. 

Your vain thoughts His glance shall bare,- 

God is present everywhere. 

Sufferer on the bed of pain, 

Prisoner in the dungeon's gloom, 

Wanderer on the faithless main, 
Pilgrim to the peopled tomb. 

Bow the knee in fervent prayer, — 

God is present everywhere. 

Wearied one, no longer grieve : 

Rise from earth, thy smiles relume ; 



SEA-SHELLS. 

Hope for thee again shall live, — 
Live in trust beyond the tomb. 
Banish from thy heart despair, — 
God is present everywhere. 



25 



SEA-SHELLS. 



The men that trod the earth when lay 
These petty things beneath the sea, 

Where are they ? Passed, all passed away, 
Brief as the mist upon the lea; 

While your wan bosoms, countless years, 

Were washed by Ocean's briny tears. 

When the young Earth was fresh in pride, 
And Pleasure's bowers no serpent feared, 

But fair as bright and blooming bride 
Her virgin innocence appeared. 

Then they were cradled by the wave, 

Or nestled in some ocean cave. 

Far down among the coral bowers, 
Where finny wings glide noiseless by. 

They slept through Ocean's wildest hours, 
Calm 'neath their crystal canopy; 

The tangled seaweed o'er them spread 

Lay like a mantle on the dead. 
3 



26 SEA-SHELLS. 

The sea, the heavy surging sea, 
The sailor-sexton of the brave, 

That tolls in wild sublimity 

A death-dirge o'er its empire grave, 

Hath, with an artist's magic spell. 

Burnished each tiny citadel. 

And brought them forth, a lovely boon. 
Fair as the lily. Summer's bride. 

To glitter in the gay saloon. 

The pageant of a harmless pride : 

In wreaths of many flowers to twine, 

Pale relics from a watery shrine. 

And thus from out the depths of time 
May we arise beyond the grave. 

Still purer in the spirit's prime 

Than sea-shells from the ocean-wave, 

To be enwreathed among the just. 

Where thief is not, nor moth, nor rust ! 



DRAIN NO MORE THE GOBLET DRY. 



27 



DRAIN NO MORE THE GOBLET DRY. 

Drain no more the goblet dry : 
Let the wine-cup shattered lie, 
And its deadly venom flow- 
In a stream of noxious woe ; 
Sink it deep beneath the clay, 
Dash the poisoned bowl away. 

Lo ! the vine-bough on the wall 
Rears its purple coronal : 
And the clustering grapes are seen, 
Thick, the trellis-work between ; 
Grasp them, and thy thirst allay : 
Dash the poisoned bowl away ! 

Summer brings a generous freight, 
Bushes bowed beneath the weight 
Of the clustering fruit that swells 
From their leafy citadels. 
God has sent them : make them thine. 
Cast away the deadly wine ! 

High upon their lofty stems 
Ruby cherries gleam like gems : 
Goodly fruits of every hue. 
Autumn spreads before thy view ; 
Taste them, and the wine-cup leave : 
Give thy soul a long reprieve ! 



28 TO THE WINDS. 

From the slayer of thy health 
Turn unto the orchard's wealth : 
It has treasures richly nursed 
That will quench thy fever-thirst ; 
Fly, then, from the reveler's roar: 
Rise to manhood's state once more. 



TO THE WINDS. 

Whence come ye, minstrels? from the sunny plains, 
Where your soft fannings swayed the drooping flower, 

Languid for want of unreturning rains, 
And wasting slowly as the precious dower 

Of female loveliness, seen for a day. 

Then, mist-like, borne away? 

Perchance ye've journeyed o'er the billow's crest, 
That curled on high in many a snowy fold : 

Tossing the dolphin from his place of rest. 

And making sport of him; though strong and bold. 

He wages puny warfare with the sea 

When ye are loosed and free. 

Have ye not rocked the sailor on the deep? 

Hushed him to slumber when his toil was o'er? 
Piped your glad voices to his midnight sleep. 

Till all his early dreams came back once more, 
And the sad tones that sighed a last farewell 

Seemed in your blast to dwell ? 



TO THE WINDS. 

Oh ! rock him still ! let thoughts of home be blent 
With all the bright illusion slumber -brings : 

Kind looks return, that so imploring bent 

On his at parting; soothe the grief that wrings 

The tear-drops from his eye : pause o'er his sleep ; 
A moment let him weep. 

'Twill soon be o'er : to-morrow he will rise 
To buffet fierce your strong, resistless power. 

When thunder-peals and lightning rend the skies, 
And darkness mantles on the noontide hour. 

And your stern pinions hurl the clouds along. 

Then shall his soul be strong. 

What have ye met upon the trackless tide 
Besides the sea-boy in his floating home? 

The spicy shores where precious perfumes glide, 
A wasted incense o'er the ocean's foam; 

Gay, tropic flowers that wave beneath the trees 
In isles of Indian seas. 

And brilliant birds amid the orange-bowers, 
With rainbow plumage glittering in the light. 

And date-trees waving through long summer hours, 
Burdening the air with sweets : making your flight 

Dreamy with odors of the palm and lime 
Of that delicious clime. 

But ye have come by strangely devious ways 
From prospects wilder far, and yet as true : 

From Hecla's summits, whose volcanic blaze 
Athwart the frosty sky a glory threw ; 
3* 



29 



3° 



TO THE WINDS. 



Methinks ye braced your wings till they swelled high 
Beneath the polar sky. 

And ye have swept Sahara in your flight, 
Heaving the sand-heaps like a billowy sea : 

And where the noonday shone, producing night, 
Engulfing deep the desert argosy. 

What is returned upon your muttering breath ? ' 
Despair, alas ! and death. 

Then let me hear you when your tones are gay 
With the glad music of the woodland bowers ; 

Speak of the fountains as they chime away 
•In some wild glen : and bring the breath of flowers 

From the lone prairies, where without a tree 
Rolls a vast floral sea. 

And send your music-voices, low and sweet. 
To all the weary, suffering sons of men ; 

Wherever temples throb, or pulses beat, 
Come, as a gentle, soothing benison : 

In low, sweet murmurs come, e'en as a hymn 
From guardian cherubim. 



MORN AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 



31 



MORN AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

A BROAD, light streak upon the horizon burns, 
And upward mounts among the clouds on high, 

Whose edges brighten in successive turns ; 

An artist's hand hath touched the glowing sky, — 
A master-touch : the artist, Deity. 

Farther and wider streams the golden light. 
The lower clouds blaze out in burning fire : 

The quickening influence pierces to the height 
Of heaven's meridian ; fast the rays aspire, 
Till morn's resplendent flame forms night's funereal 
pyre. 

The amber light hath reached the mountain's brow, 

In undulating brightness far 'tis spread : 
Feeble at first, but gathering splendor now, 

On every peak a glory new is shed. 

The airy warblers from a leafy bed 
Come forth with greetings to the opening day : 

While o'er the leaves a golden light extends 
As fast they shimmer in the morning ray. 

And wake to life ; the breeze its presence lends, 

And all the wavy mass in changeful lustre blends. 

Rills from the mountain in a joyous light 

Come, as bright prospects to the heart when young ; 
And foaming torrents from the dizzy height, 



32 



MORN AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 



Where giddy summits to the sky have sprung, 
Dash from the rocks, and to the depths are flung. 

And o'er the gulf which mocks the plummet's line 
The graceful bow lifts up its airy form. 

Touched with the colors of a Hand Divine ; 
Begotten of the mist and sunbeams warm, 
It comes, a child of light, to die amid the storm. 

Beneath, the river murmurs as it spreads 
Upon the couch of adamantine stone : 

Its onward course through many an opening leads 
In mountain passes, to the eye unknown. 
Save of the fallow deer and fox alone. 

Upon its breast the cloudy vapors lie 
Above, below, extending far and wide ; 

The sun hath touched them : lo ! they mount on high 
Slow rolls the huge bulk up the mountain's side. 
Till, lost in air, it spreads into its kindred tide. 



TO AN INFANT. 



ZZ 



TO AN INFANT. 

Lovely infant, in thy smile 
Sorrow might her pangs beguile. 
Sin might gaze and turn away 
From the evil thought that lay 
Buried in his heart, and be 
Better for the sight of thee. 
Vanity might check her wiles, 
Witnessing thy artless smiles. 
May our love for thee not rise 
Farther than is good and wise ! 
Death may come and rend the tie, 
Pale the cheek and close the eye ; 
But we would dispel the fear. 
Years to come mayst thou be here 
In the world, but free from grief, 
Last in sin, in goodness chief! 
Strong to battle ills of clay, 
Swerving not from wisdom's way ! 
Dawn of years and prime's full hours, 
Age's frail but sacred powers. 
All to one grand object tend, — 
Faith's fruition, Time's great end. 



34 THE ALPINE HORN. 



THE ALPINE HORN. 



"When the sun has set, the herdsman who dwells upon the highest 
habitable spot takes his horn and pronounces audibly and loudly through 
it, ' Praise the Lord God !' As soon as this sound is heard by the neigh- 
boring herdsmen, they take their Alpine horns, and repeat the same 
words." 



The rocks and hills have heard 
The pealing anthems of the Alpine horn ; 
To its deep music forests old are stirred, 

As on the breeze 'tis borne. 

From countless cots below- 
Responsive notes arise in grand refrain ; 
Wakening the echoes as they onward flow ; 

Sublimely wild the strain. 

Hushing the tones of men, 
It swells : a melody profoundly deep. 
Pealing through glacier-field and icy glen 

Where the wild chamois leap. 

Up the tall peaks it springs : 
Blending its chorus with the spheres on high ; 
From lofty crags the solemn cadence rings 

In deepening symphony. 



THE ALPINE HORN. 



35 



Swelling, it surges wide 
Till all the mountain seems to breathe of prayer j 
And through the gorges rolls, a music-tide 

Borne on the night-winds there. 

Glorious the gathered sound : 
As if each pinnacle an angel trod, 
And poured his worship from the summits round, 

With, " Praise the Lord our God !" 

How thrilling and sublime 
To hear the voice of praise go up in air. 
From temple where the ardent soul must climb 

To lay its incense there ! 

Such chorus, unsurpassed. 
Among God's monuments alone can be: 
Stupendous mountains, forests, oceans vast 

Are fanes for Deity. 

And here it is, oh, here, 
The altar should be made that He can prize ; 
There is "ao fitting temple, save such sphere, 

Beneath the wide, blue skies. 



;^6 THE HISTORY OF AN OSTRICH PLUME. 



THE HISTORY OF AN OSTRICH 
PLUME. 

i860. 

I WAS reared in the desert : the sunbeams that went 
To my root in the ostrich exuberance lent ; 
And the winds of the sand-sea, though fervid with heat, 
As they shot through my fibres, were wholesome and sweet. 

I grew up apace, and with pride I stood high, 
All waving in light as the sun swept the sky ; 
But short was my glory : my plumage so gay 
Caught the eye of a sable one passing that way. 

A chase now ensued : " And whatever betide. 

It is mine," he exclaimed, '■^ for the locks of my bride." 

I waved in the breeze, or I trailed in the sand, 

As the sooty foe followed with noose in his hand. 

My parent fled onward, not deeming that I 

Was the gewgaw pursued with such covetous eye. 

She dashed o'er the sand-heaps, the desert's wild thrones, 

And scattered the piles of the wayfarers' bones.* 

* " In Arabia, the bones of dead men and camels are the principal 
guides of the pilgrims." 



THE HISTORY OF AN OSTRICH PIUME. 37 

Her feet plowed the sand, and her wings clove the blast, 
As a storm-driven vessel, on, onward she passed ; 
For the foe was behind her, and swiftly she fled. 
Till the meshes closed round her unfortunate head. 

The death-blows came down with a merciless hand : 
They plucked me, and left her alone on the sand ; 
My streamers now floated, all dazzling and white, 
O'er a proud ebon beauty of Congo the bright. 

And with my soft fringes above her dark brow, 
I still might be waving all gracefully now ; 
But the man-stealer hasted, and fierce on his prey, 
Like blood-hound, he bounded, and bore her away. 

And loose from her temple unbraided I swung, 

As her arms o'er her head in wild gestures were flung ; 

The turf where I rested was smiling and fair 

As the dawn of the morrow, — but she was not there. 

I followed her footsteps, and over the sea 

They brought me to flaunt in "the land of the free." 

'' The free?" it is mockery; for bondage is there. 

And the slave is bowed down with the weight of his care. 

When the young swain of Congo first placed me above 
The brow of his beauty, my price was her love ; 
But gold (how degrading !) must purchase me now. 
For the knees of this nation to money-gods bow. 

At length I was bartered : and o'er a fair head 
My pure, snowy fringes all gracefully spread; 

4 



38 THE HISTORY OF AN OSTRICH PLUME. 

I drooped on her forehead : its paleness but seemed 
To deepen in pallor wherever I gleamed. 

Alas ! for the av'rice that brought me afar 
To regions so strange 'neath the lone western star; 
And alas ! for the maiden of Congo the true, 
And her comrades : the victims of avarice too. 

Far better that now, both to them and to me. 
The tocsin of woe from the ''land of the free," 
The nation of ''great institutions" alone. 
Had still been a summons unheard and unknown. 

Farewell, then ! for now I am doomed evermore 
To a worthless existence on this distant shore ; 
And she, the dark maiden, what, what is her doom ? 
The taskmaster's mandate, e'en down to the tomb. 



SOJVG OF NIGHT. 



39 



SONG OF NIGHT. 

I HAVE come, and toil has fled ; 

Gently, gently I will lay 
Slumber on the aching head. 

And will lull the cares of day. 

O'er the pastures I have trod, 

Shadows on my footsteps pressed ; 

And upon the humid sod 
Weary oxen are at rest. 

Softly o'er the hills I go. 
And my tireless vigils keep 

Where the flocks, like spotless snow, 
Lowl}^ on the greensward sleep. 

Through the forest I have passed. 
Darkness is its covering shield ; 

And the wounded hare at last 
Has found shelter in the field. 

Day had beams too bright for him 
When he laid him down to die, 

So I hung my curtain dim 
O'er his filmy, death-like eye. 



40 



THE WILD SWAN. 

Thus I scatter mercies round 
As my footsteps onward move, 

Hushing every jarring sound 
With a benison of love. 



THE WILD SWAN. 

The lake is my home, and its billows I plow ; 
My feet are my oars, and my breast is my prow. 
The wind is my car, and my wing is my steed, 
And away through the air I am wafted with speed. 
On the lucid, still waters I tranquilly float, 
As lightly as nautilus wafting his boat ; 
And the skies in their purity over my head 
Their curtains of azure translucently spread ; 
While the shadows of stars as they lambently burn 
Far up through the depths of the waters return. 
My wing is unfettered, my pathway as free 
As the clouds of the air, or the waves of the sea ; 
I skim o'er the mountains, unscathed by the peak, 
And the cool, gushing fountains delightedly seek. 
There, there hath the hunter not ventured to roam, 
And my callow brood nestle secure in their home. 
O'er their slumbers suspended the vine-blossoms twine, 
And their wild cradle-hymn is the moan of the pine. 
And sweet is their sleep in the moss and the fern, 
When back to the clefts of the rock I return. 
On the oaks of the forest, all knotted with age. 
The spring-time for centuries has printed a gauge ; 



THE WILD SWAN. 

And yet to the breezes alone have they stirred, 

The boom of the rifle they never have heard. 

Then sleep, my young water-fowls, sleep in your nest 

I will shield you at night with, the down of my breast 

And when a few mornings have risen anew 

O'er the depths of the fountain so glassy and blue, 

I will lead you away on its bosom to bound, 

And flutter your pinions like snow-flakes around. 

Then aloft on the breezes your free wings shall rise. 

The valleys beneath you, above you the skies; 

Far up from the mountain, the lake, and the stream, 

Till like a white speck on the azure you seem. 



41 



42 



HAPPINESS. 



HAPPINESS. 

What art thou but a phantom ? I have seen 
The eager crowd pursue thy shadowy ways, 

And vainly seek to tread where thou hast been ; 
Thine is a gilded pinion : the light rays 

Of bursting meteors as they cleave the blue, 
Even as thou, art true. 

'Tis so at least in what pertains to these 

Strange labyrinthine scenes, miscalled home. 

Alas for us, that we must cross the seas 

Of death's dark flood, where spirits only roam, 

Ere we can hold thee, never more to part. 
Fast to our yearning heart ! 



BYJWA. 



43 



BYRON. 

What, impassioned son of flame, 
Were the gifts that wrought thy fame ? 
Genius: 'twas resplendent too. 
Checkered though with deadly hue ; 
Eagle-pinioned to ascend, 
Downward yet its aim and end. 

Wit: to thee it did but bring 
Brightness with a venomed sting ; 
Wielding oft a poisoned dart. 
That recoiled upon thy heart ; 
Blotting glorious things and high 
With a pen of Stygian dye. 

Love : and vainly did it glow, 
Nursing oft an inward woe ; 
Folded in its flow'ret's bells 
Canker-worms had made their cells; 
Deeply in the heart to lie. 
There to gnaw and never die. 

Fancy : which would scarcely be 
Trammeled by mortality ', 
But, like vapor, to the sky, 
Fled to find affinity ; 



44 



BYRON. 

And like vapor, still the same, 
Back returned from whence it came. 

Feeling : it a curse but proved. 
Weaning those that would have loved ; 
Chasing with its own unrest 
Kindness from another's breast ; i 

Yearning though for happier life, 
Subject still to inward strife. 

These united, o'er thy head 
Halo-like enchantment shed ; 
Beautiful, but like the fire 
Curling from a deadly pyre ; 
Or as scintillating beams 
'Mid a night of hideous dreams. 

Splendid gifts they were which brought 
Mental threads by thee inwrought 
Into tissues, lovely, fair. 
Such as poets seldom wear ; 
But, alas ! the cords of sin 
With their woof were woven in. 

Oh ! how sad that gifts like thine. 
Gifts so rare, almost divine, 
Should be tethered in their birth 
To the lowest forms of earth ! 
But perchance, it may be, thou 
Know' St it well, and mourn 'st it, now. 



THE SEASONS. 

Therefore let our pity flow 

For thy life of splendid woe ; 

Thankful, since along our way 

Snares of genius never lay, 

If to us there be but given 

Brighter hopes than thine of heaven. 



45 



THE SEASONS. 

SPRING. 

I KNOW thee by the brook set free 
From icy chains, the budding tree, 
And by the blackbird's voice of glee, 
So joyous in the field. 

I know thee by the violet's glow. 
And by the sprouting mistletoe ; 
I know thee by departing snow. 

Creation's wintry shield. 

I know thee by the lowing sound 

Of distant kine, the lambkin's bound. 

And by the freshly-tinted ground 

That like an emerald glows. 

I know thee by the murmuring things, 
The beetle's hum, the insects' wings. 
The honey-bee, whose music-strings 

Are tuned beside the rose. 



46 THE SEASONS. 

I know thee by the starting grain, 
By April's balmy, sunlit rain, 
And by the welcome frog's refrain, 

Which music is to me. 

And more, thy lineaments I trace 

In gladness on the human face, i 

Elastic mien, and joyous pace. 

Sweet harbingers of thee ! 



SUMMER. 

I know thee, too, by sunbeams fair, 
Which, in the crucibles of air. 
The subtle vapor-clouds prepare 

That seem so strangely coiled. 

I know thee by each gorgeous dye 
That evening pencils on the sky. 
Where raptured limners gaze, and sigh 

To find their efforts foiled. 

I know thee by the lightning's blaze. 
And by the long, long sultry days. 
When the fierce sun his fire-brand sways, 

And flocks in thickets hide. 

I know thee by the breezeless woods. 
The parching fields, the wilting buds. 
The arid beds no streamlet floods. 

Where cattle turn aside. 



THE SEASONS. 



AUTUMN. 



47 



Unnumbered are the things that tell 
Of thee ; and these I know full well : 
Not the pale lily's spotless bell, 

Nor yet the cowslip's dye, 

But the far-spreading, boundless plain 
All tinted o'er with golden grain, 
Where Ceres holds prolific reign 

Beneath the genial sky. 

Well, well I know thee by the haze, 
The dusky sunlight of thy days, 
The spiritual thrill that sways 

The soul with torpor bound. 

Not like the joy that Spring unbinds. 
Not like the fervor Summer finds, 
But like that power in human minds 

Which hallows all around. 



WINTER. 

And thee I know, thou wintry King ! 
Full oft I've felt thy furious wing 
Athwart my shrinking bosom fling 

A shiver deep and drear. ^ 



48 THE SEASONS. 

By all thy glittering, icy glow, 

Thy landscapes white with dazzling snow, 

Thy leafless trees and flow' rets low, 

I know when thou art near. 

By piping winds and drizzling rain. 
And hailstones dashing on the pane, , 
I know thy mighty car amain 

Is rushing toward our clime. 

Then cease my strain, lest o'er my soul 
Its smiting wheels, charged at the Pole, 
Should, heedless of the Muses, roll, 

And hush my babbling rhyme. 



PEACE. 4(j 



PEACE. 

This world contains no shrine in its wide sphere 

For the sweet dove of Peace ; its reahns appear 

Places of sojourn, not as homes of rest 

For that half earthly, but yet heavenly guest. 

Pleasure has tempted her a few fleet hours 

To furl her pinion in the siren bowers ; 

But, quick on wing, she mounts the distant height 

For scenes more pure, 'mid realms of living light. 

Religion, too, has tried her power in vain 

To keep the wanderer in her blest domain. 

She seems to love the charm Religion yields, 

And lingers oft amid her balmy fields. 

A richer lustre spreads around her bowers, 

Diviner odor sprinkles on her flowers; 

But yet when storms appear (and storms will rise). 

She spreads her downy wing, and cleaves the skies. 

Perennial only she, where Virtue's bloom 

Is never quenched in death, beyond the tomb. 



50 



TO C. L. T. IN INFANCY. 



TO C. L. T. IN INFANCY. 

Welcome, sweet babe ! the Muse's lay, 

Has never hailed thy natal day. 

Be then these lines the first frail flowers 

To greet my Catharine's infant hours. 

I would not ask a life for thee, 

Although so dear, my child, to me. 

But since thou art upon the road, 

A pilgrim to the home of God, 

It is but meet that years should prove 

Experience to the hearts we love. 

It were but vain to hide the thorn 

That, sure as death, with life is born. 

Then, loved one, know, before thee lie 

Sunshine and shade upon thy sky; 

For the heart's phases may be read 

In solar ray and tempest dread. 

Could now thy little bosom feel 

But half the weight of woe and weal 

That thrice ten summers may supply 

The sorrow or the ecstasy. 

Oh ! it would heave in wild commotion, 

As slender bark upon the ocean. 

But weep not j tears should not bedew 

Those placid eyes of heaven's own blue. 

Sure I might tell of countless things 

To rouse thy future fancyings \ 



TO a L. T. IN INFANCY. 

I might bring glimpses of life's joy, 

Without its probable alloy ; 

Hope, friendship, love, with all their smiles, 

And pleasure's ever varying wiles ;r 

But would it always be thus bright ? 

Sure, darkness follows on the light ; 

Yes, in the heart the tares are strown, 

And nourished where the wheat was sown. 

Throughout thy life 'twill be a toil 

To weed the thrice-prolific soil. 

Experience tells me thou wilt find 

A field of labor in thy mind : 

Passions oft checked, but rising still. 

Mocking the efforts of the will. 

And thou mayst find thy heart to bleed. 

The trusted changed, a broken reed. 

Oh, then, my child, let life appear 

A pathway to a better sphere. 

What though that path alternate lead 

Through thorny brake and flowery mead, 

Regard it all with equal eye. 

As nothing to Eternity. 



51 



52 STANZAS. 



STANZAS. 

'Tis sad to feel the spirit's ebb, , 

The flame that lit the soul expire ; 
The meshes rent in fancy's web, 
The light retire. 

Oh ! thus to know exhaustion's spell 
Sink deep within the bosom's core, 
The waters drained from feeling's well, 
The heartstrings wore, 

The taper light not in the soul, 
As once it lit in joy's career. 
The sundered chord, the broken bowl. 
This, this is drear. 

Oh, life ! what art thou, when are gone 

The lovely visions hope inspires ? 
Even as meteors mine have shone, 
Consuming fires. 

All that is brief is like the flame 

That burned with but too bright a glare ; 
Time with his wing athwart it came. 
And made it flare. 

Another breeze, and it may go. 
Too fleet to last, too frail to rise : 



STANZAS. 

Its oil is spent, its wick is low, 
Its lustre dies. 

And thus my spirit sinks in gloom, 
A lethargy, of all the' worst : ^ 
A weary blank, a mental tomb 
I cannot burst. 

But shall it not beyond the grave 

Rise as the moth, new-fledged and free ? 
One hope remains, but will it save. 
And even me ? 

I'll watch and wait : there yet may be 

An anchor to the tossing soul ; 
In the long future faith may see 
The clouds unroll. 

Surely hope's day-star has not set, 
Only is veiled from mortal eye ; 
But wears its own bright beauty yet^ 
Beyond the sky. 



53 



54 SONNET. 



SONNET. 



TO A FRIEND. 



Fair were the hours, but, ah ! how fleet and fast 
They vanished from my vision, like a dream 

All tinted o'er Avith radiance as they passed ! 
How beautiful ! 'twas life's glad morning beam. 

How have we talked away the hours of night ! 

How have we wandered through the greenwood bowers, 
Making Time's pinion but too fair and bright. 

Strewing Life's pathway with the heart's fresh flowers! 

Oh ! these were moments that the soul may prize, 
When thought lies clouded 'mid her troubled skies; 
These too were seasons that the mind can bless. 
And call them happy when the glad heart pours 
A tide of joy on some succeeding hours. 
Rich with the bosom's purest tenderness. 



INVOCATION. 



55 



INVOCATION. 



TO L. E. L. 



Oh ! tell me, thou whom earth-born feelings bound 
In captive chains of ever-burning thought, 

Whose life, though soon its heavy coil unwound, 
And rendered back the cruel price it brought, 

Was chastened here, we trust, for realms on high, 
What is Futurity ? 

Speak, and I'll trust thee ; for thy soul is free, . 

Free from the cumbrous clog, corporeal clay : 
Its doubts have vanished, and obscurity 

Fades as a mist before meridian day ; 
All things are lucid now : though once a cloud 
Pressed on it like a shroud. 

What hast thou found amid that far-off sphere ? 

Faith, too transcendent for our mortal ken? 
Virtue, so beautiful it cannot wear 

An aspect suited to the sons of men? 
Beauty, so thrilling that the ravished eye 
Is tranced in ecstasy ? 

And hast thou 'scaped from sorrow? freed one, say; 

Does anguish enter in that broad domain ? 
For if it be heaven's heritage, I'll lay 

My weary head on mother earth again, 



56 INVOCATION. ■ 

And supplicate the clods and stones to keep ■ 
My soul in endless sleep. 

Nay; heaven is heaven, and not a place of woe, — 
Hast thou not found it such ? I trust thou hast, — 

A place of perfect bliss, where pleasure's glow 
Is stamped on all, and shall forever last ; 

Where all the air in that bright realm above 
Is redolent of love. 

And thither, too, at last, I long to come. 
And freely breathe that atmosphere divine ; 

Amid those blissful bowers to make my home ; 

For here, my anxious heart has yearned, like thine, 

To find its fondest hopes, its worthiest deeds. 
All, all but broken reeds. 

Come to me, then, and lay thy spirit-hand 
Upon my fevered brow, and let me hear 

One sentence only from that better land 
Ere I upon its confines vast appear : 

Tell me but this, in tones of heavenly love, 

"Sister, there's peace above." 



THE ETHIOPIAN LILY IN MY GARDEN. 57 



THE ETHIOPIAN LILY 

IN MY GARDEN. 

Tall through the myrtle leaves it sprung, 

More glossy and more fair; 
And o'er the tinted rosebud flung 

A queenly grace and air. 

Was it that it had caught the mien 

Of Cleopatra's pride ? 
When once her glittering barge was seen 

On Cydnus' waves to glide ? 

Fair courtier hands have grasped its stem. 

Bending beneath her prow, 
To grace the sparkling diadem 

Upon her regal brow. 

The boatmen of the Nile have been 

Familiar with its grace, 
And through a thousand years have seen 

Its fair, ancestral race. 

The gallant barges as they passed 
Laid countless blossoms low ; 

But where its lot at length is cast 
There comes no keel-like foe. 



58 THE ETHIOPIAN LILY IN MY GARDEN. 

Brightly, amid a sea of green, 

It rears its snowy head, 
And cowslips at its foot are seen 

Upon their tufted bed. 

Though it has wandered from its bower 

On Egypt's ancient rill, 
Strange visions round it seem to shower, 

And vaguely through me thrill. 

For in it lie mysterious spells, 
Mute histories round it cling ; 

Suggestive more than spiral shells 
Where ocean anthems ring. 

It tells of times when men of mark 
Dwelt by the Nile's far stream, 

And Moses in his bulrush ark 
Smiled 'mid his infant dream. 

When Pharaoh in his pride of state 

Trampled the river's bed, 
Sealing his own eternal fate 

In vengeance on his head. 

It has an utterance that can swell 

E'en here to this far shore. 
Where its lone race may proudly dwell 

When mine shall be no more. 



SEBASTOPOL. 



59 



SEBASTOPOL. 



"The cost of the late war in the Crimea, to England, is now ascer- 
tained to have been, in round numbers, eighty million pounds sterling." 



England groans, and well she may ; 
Hark ye ! she has cast away 
In her self-will, reckless, blind. 
Wealth that would amaze mankind. 

Wherefore were her coffers drained 
With a zeal as though it rained 
Floods of riches, which have been 
Only by Aladdin seen ? 

Did she with this boundless store 
Open nature's secret door? 
Foster genius, till its ken 
Pierced the latent powers of men ; 

Make the human soul to see 
Hidden things that yet may be? 
Girdle earth with railroad belt, 
Widen seas, and mountains melt \ 

Send unuttered words to glide 
Underneath the ocean tide, 



6o SEBASTOFOL. 

Till each coral grove and glen 
Pulsates with the thoughts of men? 

Or for pomp was it alone 
Spent in piling brick and stone ? 
Rearing structures proud to hold 
Pigmy lords of mortal mould ? i 

Compassing the earth to hoard * 

Luxuries for the pampered board ? 
Fetching dainty things to grace 
Evanescent beauty's face? 

Not for these things was it given, 
Not for these, nor yet for heaven ; 
Not to send with silvery tone 
Peace on e'arth through every zone. 

Not to smooth the brow of care, 
Not to breathe the Christ-like prayer ; 
Sending it as dew among 
Every kindred, tribe, and tongue. 

Where, then, did her treasure go ? 
'Twas to purchase human woe ; 
Lo ! it went to rear afar 
Monuments to ^^ glorious^ ^ war!* 

':• " War is utterly and irreconcilably inconsistent with true greatness. 
Man has worshiped, in military glory, a phantom idol, compared with 
which the colossal images of ancient Babylon are but toys ; and we, in 
this favored land of freedom, in this blessed day of light, are among the 
idolaters." — CHARLES Sumner. 



SEBASTOFOL. 6i 

Seek it where your legions lie 
Mangled 'neath a Russian sky, 
Where the war with savage rule 
Blasted, wrecked Sebastopol.* 

Mighty nation 1 proud thou art 
With thy giant-pulsing heart, 
Whose deep throbs from Britain's shore 
Circulate the wide world o'er. 

But what art thou? weakly, mild. 
Even as a new-born child ; 
In the moral sense to see 
War a deep enormity. 

Oh ! thou hast some sage ones there ; 
Listen to their earnest prayer ; 
Stifle not their warning word, 
Prophets are they of the Lord. 

Brothers, say they, what is life ? 
Waken from your dream of strife ; 
Few and evil are our days. 
War is sin in all its ways. 

Leave it ; and should discord lower, 
Settle it by suasive power ; 
Crush contention in its birth, — 
Peace should be the badge of earth. 



* " For eighteen months the storms of war beat upon the helpless town 
(Sebastopol), and left it the saddest wreck that ever the sun has looked 
upon. Not one house escaped unscathed, not one remained habitable, 
even." 

6 



62 iiAR VEST. 



HARVEST. 

A TEMPERANCE SONG. , 

Nursed by sunbeams, dews, and rain, 
Lo ! the earth is ripe with grain ; 
Look around ! the very sky 
Brightens wnth the amber dye, 
As the winds are o'er it rolled, 
Like a wavy sea of gold. 

See the reapers : forth they pass 
O'er the pendent, dewy grass; 
Merrily they onward move 
Through the meadow, glen, and grove ; 
Pausing where the wheat is bright 
In the morning's rosy light. 

Now^ the sickle strikes the grain ; 
Onward moves the sturdy wain ; 
Pond'rous sheaves, a bounteous yield. 
Stud the groaning harvest-field ; 
And the air is stirred with song 
As the reapers move along. 

Little deem they that their toil, 
Lavished on the generous soil. 
Shall be blasted : sorrow's train 
Rise from out that golden grain : 



HARVEST. 

Sighs be heaved, and tears be shed, 
O'er the blessings round them spread. 

By a dark, transmuting power 
Man has gained in evil hour. 
These are blessings which may prove 
Anguish to the souls they love ; 
And this wealth for banquet shed 
Turn to curses on their head. 

From these gifts they see but poured 
Treasures for the ample board ; 
Ignorance is blissful, then, 
Happy reapers, on again ; 
Wield the sickle, chant the lays 
To the bounteous Giver's praise. 

Seek not to unfold the scroll 
Sin has sealed around the soul : 
Making man's demoniac will 
Pander to th' unhallowed still ; 
Changing gifts of nature's hand 
Into blight upon the land. 

Dark and dreadful is the strife 
Rum has waged with human life ; 
Darkness broods, an earthly hell. 
Where his blear-eyed legions dwell ; 
Manhood sinks degraded, dead ; 
Souls lie crushed beneath his tread. 



63 



64 THE NEW WORLD. 



THE NEW WORLD. 

A TEMPERANCE SONG. ^ 

I HAVE been to her forests, the red man was there ; 
I have been to her caves, where the wolf has his lair; 
I have scaled the high mountains, their apex have seen, 
While the vales of rich verdure were laughing between. 
And there was no tempter, no poison I found. 
For water, bright water, was gushing around. 

I saw her again, and the forest lay low ; 
I beheld the lone wigwam, unstrung was the bow ; 
I sought for the footprints the bison had made, 
But traces were recent of plowshare and spade ; 
And in the bright valley where beauty was found 
Stood the engine of death, a dark demon unbound. 

I looked for her altars ; the votaries were there. 
But an oath was the worship, a curse was the prayer. 
The land seemed to mourn, and the beautiful sky 
Was dim, as the fumes of the still-house rolled high. 
Oh ! bosoms were joyous and faces were bright 
When water, pure water, was quaffed with delight. 

Our scutcheon is tarnished, our nation is dyed 

With the streams of the wine-press, pollution's dark tide. 

Arise in your valor, ye strong ones, and save 

The land from destruction, the drunkard's vile grave; 



THE NEW WORLD. 65 

On, on with your toil, till our country is free 
From the bacchanal song of the mad debauchee ! 

Yes, muster your legions, for just is the strife, 
To war for your brethren, their honor and life ; 
They sink to perdition, unbind the deep spell. 
Break, break the strong fetters forged darkly in hell ; 
Let your watchword be freedom, and temp' ranee your goal, 
Peal the trumpet of hope to the sin-stricken soul ! 



MEMORIAL VERSES. 



IN MEMORY OF HER WHO DEPARTED 
THIS LIFE SEPTEMBER 17, 1862. 

Thou hast left mourners here, spirit withdrawn, 
But, tell me, tell me, whither hast thou gone? 
Through night's long vigil I have watched alone, 
And yearned to meet thee ; but a wall of stone 
Seemed reared between thy spirit-life and me ; 
Where art thou, loved one, 'midst Eternity? 

Once, and once only, in my dreams thou came. 
And, oh ! so like thyself, unchanged, the same. 
Clad in thy mortal robes, no cloud to hide, 
A real presence standing at my side; 
Eyes that have looked on me were on me there. 
Replete with mortal life, though but of air. 

None else discerned thee ; I alone had power, 
A gift of sight to see thee in that hour. 
Why wast thou veiled from others and unknown ? 
For yearning hearts were there besides my own. 
Strangely mysterious ; was the power to see 
Fancied or real? was the vision ^/lee / 
66 



MEMORIAL VERSES. 67 

A precious omen (let me hold it fast), 
That in some spirit-realm thou'rt safe at last, 
And free ; yes, free to come and take thy place 
On earth among us : present face to face. 
And wilt thou do it oft? No voice replies. 
Alas ! the barrier betwixt earth and skies ! 

The world seems lonely since the sentence dread, 

The solemn utterance reached me, '' She is dead !" 

No one again will fill thy place to me ; 

No meetings more save in eternity. 

Then let me trust ; in patience let me dwell, 

Nor feel the words are final, — Fare thee well ! 



68 CA THARINE. 



CATHARINE. 

For nine-and-twenty years 'twas ours 
To watch thee on thy onward way, 

Strewing life's pathway with the flowers 
Of home-born duties day by day. 

Oh ! had the messenger been stayed 
To some remotely future day ! 

It was so sad to see thee fade 
Thus early from our sight away. 

Hopes clouded that were once so dear, 
Dark auguries of a coming fate 

Which clung around thy presence here, 
Now make thy home all desolate. 

We miss thee at the noontide hours^ 
On porch and lawn beside the door ; 

We miss thy hand among the flowers, 
We miss thee always, more and more. 

But most of all at early night. 
When all familiar ones are there 

Around the well-known parlor light, 
We miss thee in thy vacant chair. 



CA THARINE. 

All day we seem to watch and wait, 
And fancy thou wilt come again, 

Till evening closes long and late 
To find the fond delusion vain. 

Thou'lt come no more; and we must be 
(How difficult our will to bend !) 

Submissive to the dread decree, 
And wait and trust unto the end. 



69 



70 



TO THE MEMORY OF EMILY. 



TO THE MEMORY OF EMILY. 

Sleep on, my loved one, nor awake ; ' 

Ev'n could a rustling leaf restore, 
I would not on thy slumber break. 
Nor from thy bliss one moment take, 
For grief is past and pain is o'er. 

But I will picture to my view 

The happy hours we've mingled here. 
Precious but short ; they ever drew 
From me a fond response and true ; 
Remembered now but with a tear. 

Far, far away thy tomb is made ; 

No tear of mine can fall o'er thee; 
Oh ! that beneath our broad oak shade 
Thy form at rest were gently laid, 

And there, mine too, might some time be. 

One hope had long my heart possessed. 
To meet again this side the tomb ; 

But be it thus : 'tis God's behest ; 

Thou art, I trust, forever blest. 

Transplanted hence in heaven to bloom. 

And if the flower just opening here 
Fulfill on high the promise given, 



TO THE MEMORY OE EMII^Y. 71 

How glorious in that upper sphere 
Will be the beauty it shall wear 
Amid the seraphim of heaven ! 

I once had hoped that we might bear 

Together on life's rugged road 
The smiles of joy and frowns of care ; 
But thou hast found a haven where 

To anchor safe ; that haven, God. 

Then let me rather seek to raise 

A thankful heart that thou art free ; 

That few and brief have been thy days ; 

And join with thee to hymn His praise 
Who clothed thee with Eternity. 



72 IN REMEMBRANCE OF A. K, 



IN REMEMBRANCE OF A. K. 

We met long since ; but yet thy smile is there, 
Graved on my memory like a thing of light; 

The bright blood flushed thy cheek, the raven hair 
Was parted on thy brow \ all warmly bright 

Those looks are on me still : tlieir radiant beams 

Live in my soul like sweet but mournful dreams. 

We had grown up amid familiar things ; 

The same bright landscape opened on our sight ; 
And memory's hallowed power before me brings 

Visions of days too joyous and too bright; 
Too bright and joyous, for the tomb appears 
To tarnish all with its corroding tears. 

Our hearts have bounded with the same wild glee, 
E'en as gay fawns our buoyant spirits sprung; 

Blithe as the lark, and as the chamois free. 

Our young, glad voices on the winds were flung. 

And this is past ; alas ! we may not prove 

Our youth's young charm refined by time and love. 

I cannot see thee as the grave portrays ; 

No, thy dark eyes flash out their wonted beams ; 
And the bright visions of our early days 

Spring up before me, till the present seems 
Not what it is, — a saddened scene to me, — 
But real life, and brightened still by thee. 



IN REMEMBRANCE OF A. K. 



73 



I fondly hoped — that hope, alas ! how vain ! 

As are, indeed, all worldly hope and care — 
To burnish yet afresh our friendship's chain. 

And lightly round my heart its fetters wear. 
And make the hours to come more brightly green 
In feeling's growth, than youth's glad days had been. 

But this is now too late; remorseless time 

Has ravished from me what was all too bright ; 

Wast thou too good, too precious for this clime, 
That thou wast summoned to the realms of light ? 

Oh ! for submission to the dread behest, 

A heart to say, the Almighty will is best ! 

Thou art but sooner gone ; I hear the call. 
And must ere long my vesture gird to go ; 

The shadows of the grave around me fall, 
And the dark waters of oblivion flow 

Coldly and sternly round ; I hear their boom. 

The dirge-like moan, precursor of the tomb. 

Farewell : that word pertains alone to time ; 

Thou hast not heard it on that far-off shore ; 
One pang was thine, and then that better clime 

Burst on thy sight, where partings are no more. 
I shall lay down my weary burden too, 
And yet ere long ; till then, dear friend, adieu. 



74 



IN MEMORY OF B. G. 



IN MEMORY OF H. G., 

WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN. INSCRIBED TO HIS 
MOTHER. 

Year after year that opening blossom grew 
In rich luxuriance, bright and fair and gay; 

O'er the dark days of toil, like gentle dew, 
Its presence shed a freshness on thy way. 

When sad and adverse sat life's wayward tide, 
And with its waters sorrow's tears were blent. 

Then he, the loved one, faithful at thy side. 
To all thy weary days a radiance lent. 

Where is he now? where is the flow'ret's bloom 
That late so brightly decked the vernal bower? 

He smiled on life, he vanished to the tomb, 

Leaving but memory of the bright young flower. 

But when the tint has left the lovely rose. 
And the charmed eye no more its glory fills, 

What odors still its ruined folds disclose ! 

And from its depths what sweetness yet distills ! 

So from his memory shall an incense rise 
Sweeter than perfume from the rose's bed ; 

And wheresoe'er thy future pathway lies, 
Its hallowed influence shall around be shed. 



IN MEMORY OF H. G. 



75 



Oh ! if a wish could bring him, teach thy heart 
To school itself to patience ; life has snares : 

Insidious dangers from time's wayside start, 

And where the wheat was sown spring up the tares. 

Happier by far that in the early spring 

Of life's young freshness he should be recalled, 

E'en though o'er thee his early transit fling 
Such shadow as the bravest has appalled. 

His earthly race was run. What was there here 
But thy kind voice, loved mother, that could stay 

His footsteps upward ? to a higher sphere 
He passed serenely on, from earth away. 

Be thou resigned ; a mission still is thine 

To toil awhile upon this weary road ; 
Tasks are upon thee from a Hand Divine, 

Pointing thee upward to the throne of God. 



76 HARRIET. 



HARRIET. 

She left us in her early prime, 

While flowers of life were round her here ; 
Yet not until the hand of time 

Had made the loveliest dry and sear. 

Her lot was cast 'mid light and shade, 
Her clouds of life had rims of gold ; 

A gift of music for her made 
A wealth of happiness untold. 

We loved her for her gentle worth, 
And for her song-inspiring powers, 

For the free gush of jocund mirth 
Spontaneous in her happier hours. 

We miss her ; but we would not hold 
Her back to this our chequered way ; 

We yield her to a better fold, 
A happier home, a brighter day. 



MAXIMS. 



Bind not thy conscience with a vexing vow. 
The Future is contingent ; guard the Now. 



Of the little sins beware ; 
Guard the lips with jealous care. 
If the tongue's rebellious still, 
Curb it with an iron will. 



Let motives be well understood ; 
Adopt not wrong and call it good. 
If evil tempt with hope of gain, 
See that thy self-respect remain. 



Whatever wrongs thy heart endure. 
Keep thy own conscience spotless, pure. 



When pettish words arise within thy mind 
And rush for utterance to the willing tongue, 

Smooth down thy to7ies till they are soft, refined. 
And fret not others whom perchance they 've stung. 

77 



